


Spectrums Defy Us

by TheIndianWinter



Category: Cabin Pressure
Genre: Fluff and Angst, M/M, POV Martin Crieff
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2016-07-04
Updated: 2016-07-04
Packaged: 2018-07-21 14:39:58
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 5,810
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/7391233
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/TheIndianWinter/pseuds/TheIndianWinter
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Martin Crieff lives his life in shades of grey. After all, how else could one characterise pining after a straight man?<br/>Except, one day he learns, said man isn't straight, and then that damnable hope creeps in, even though Martin is very much Not Douglas' Type, not in the least because he's, well <i>Martin</i>.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Spectrums Defy Us

**Author's Note:**

> So, this is my first CP fic that I'm posting (though definitely not the first I've written), and it's been sitting, as an open document, almost finished for at least a month and well, it was distracting me. I'm attempting Camp NaNoWriMo this month, and I'm taking successfully finishing one thing as a good sign, even if I'm way behind on my actual novel.   
> Anyways, I'm blathering. This is unbeta'd, but edited by me, so please feel free to point out any errors.   
> Hope you enjoy!

**_ Spectrums Defy Us _ **

**_ \----- _ **

The day that changed everything, arrived not as one would expect, with any real sense of excitement or possibility, but with the heavy patter of rain against the skylight of the attic bedroom and the vague feeling of resignation one feels when you just know it is going to absolutely bucket it down all day. 

With a sigh, Martin sat up in bed, glaring at the endless greyness through his window. With MJN on stand-by yet again, all he had to look forward to were hours upon hours sitting around in the dingy portakabin, silently bemoaning to himself that he was neither flying, nor going about his better-paid van work. He glanced towards his alarm clock and leapt out of bed upon the realisation that he was ten minutes behind schedule. He may not have been enthused by the prospect of another sedentary day of waiting, but he was nothing if not professional in conduct and that meant punctual. 

For once, his hair actually saved him time, as his uncooperative auburn curls fell into place nicely and did not need taming. He also forwent breakfast, partly to save time and partly because he had no bread left after last night’s dinner anyway. 

On the way in his van however, he managed to hit every single red light. This did not at that point appear to be prophetic in anyway, merely a symptom of his typical bad luck as he went back to being being behind schedule. 

It was only five minutes before his self-imposed start time of nine o’clock when he pulled into the carpark at Fitton airfield. He parked his van and paused a moment, psyching himself up for the mad dash from his van with neither an umbrella nor an anorak (he had yet to replace his old one, a terrible banana yellow affair that had been re-waterproofed so many times that when he got rid of it, it was probably more chemical than coat).

At that moment, an unfamiliar car pulled into the carpark. Martin only had a second to wonder if it was the client before none other than Douglas climbed out of the passenger side, protecting himself from the downpour with a big black umbrella. 

In the driver’s seat, Martin could just make out the figure of a man, fair haired, and no doubt as tall and smooth talking as his friend. It was strange that his first officer should need a lift to work, as Martin wasn’t aware of him ever staying at a friend’s before. He had mentioned dinner plans though, the day before, but of course that usually meant Douglas had a date-

Douglas chose that second to lean down and press what was most definitely a kiss, a slightly lingering kiss no less, onto the other man’s lips. 

Martin blinked.

What was that?

The car pulled away leaving Martin staring blankly at the space it had occupied until a tap on his window startled him from his reverie.

Douglas stood, smirking like the cat that had not only got the cream, but figured out how to work the tin opener as well, and when he realised he had Martin’s attention, he mouthed ‘Okay?’

Slowly, he nodded, and at Douglas’ gesture, wound down the window. 

“Any particular reason why you’re sat here in your van Martin?” the other pilot asked lightly, “Reflecting on the absurd nature of life perhaps? The rain does tend to bring out the melancholy in us all, does it not?”

“I was just…preparing,” Martin replied, gesturing absently at the teeming rain, a small amount of which was now dripping from Douglas’ umbrella into the van. “I don’t have a brolly.”

“Ah,” Douglas said, and then he gave the handle of his own a slight twirl. “Well, if sir would like, I could escort sir to the office, thus keeping our esteemed leader dry?”

Martin smiled despite the facetiousness and clambered out of the van. 

The walk to the portakabin was relatively silent, as Douglas hummed quietly but contently and Martin silently stewed over how he could ask the other man about what he had seen without using his usual tactic of just awkwardly blurting it out at the least appropriate moment. 

After their seeming eternal walk to the office door, any question Martin may have posed had he sufficiently gathered his courage (which he most definitely hadn’t) was quickly set aside as Arthur leapt up from his seat with his typical exuberant greeting. 

“Hello chaps!” he called out, halting his spinning on one of the rickety old desk chairs. He swayed in his seat for a moment before his smile widened and he focused his blue eyes on the pair of them. “How were your evenings?”

“I had a great evening,” Martin began, cutting over Douglas before the other man could even open his mouth. He found he had no real wish to hear any of the salacious details from his co-pilot’s date night; the very thought of it, especially when compared with his own lonesome existence, made something in his chest constrict a little painfully. “Maisie has a huge block of cheese so we made toasties in the flat, then all the students wanted to watch a film.”

His chest eased at the memory of the night before - the group that inhabited the flat this year were more sociable than most previous groups and his evening had certainly been pleasant, even though they had no TV anymore and so had ended up watching the film crowded around the screen of Jamie’s laptop. 

“That does sound rather brilliant Skip,” Arthur enthused. “What film did you watch?”

Half way through Martin’s attempted synopsis of _A Fish Called Wanda_ , Carolyn bustled in. 

“Martin you’re late. Douglas you’re early,” she said in lieu of a greeting, cutting smoothly across Martin before he could even sputter out anything in his defence, or indeed point out the flaws in her logic. “I’ve just had a call from Mr Gabovski and he’s on his way now. Douglas: walk around, Martin: flight plan. Both of you, hop to it.” She clapped her hands sharply, then shooed them both away. 

It was a long while before Martin was left in Douglas’ company again - they had taken off for Moscow and supplied with their coffees before the thought even crossed Martin’s mind again. Douglas wasn’t any more self-satisfied than usual (not that is was really possible for Douglas to be any more satisfied with himself than he was on a daily basis) and so it was only when Martin caught the edge of a purplish bruise peeking above his collar line that the events in the carpark came screaming back to him. 

He took a deep breath, which of course prompted Douglas to glance over at him curiously. 

With as much nonchalance as he could muster, Martin gave a brief nod towards Douglas’ collar. 

“So that man I saw you with in the carpark, is he the one that gave you that?”

His co-pilot’s hand flew to his collar and then he smirked. 

“Ah yes, I did mention I had dinner plans, didn’t I?”

“Breakfast too it seems,” Martin muttered. He hoped Douglas didn’t pick up on the bitter edge to his voice. The other man just chuckled. 

“Yes, it went rather well, I’d say.”

A brief silence fell between them, making Martin shift uncomfortably in his seat. Douglas studied him, brow dipped in a small, perplexed frown that only made Martin all the more uneasy.

“Are you alright Martin?” the first officer asked after a moment, his tone tight and defensive. 

“Fine, fine,” Martin brushed it off. He could have kicked himself for how not-fine he sounded. Now Douglas would definitely think something was the matter. 

He just continued to scrutinise his captain until the man eventually cracked. 

“Well, it’s just-”

At Martin’s abrupt halt, Douglas turned so he was almost fully facing him. 

“What?”

Martin heaved a sigh. There was no escaping it now. “Well, I never knew you were… you know…into men.”

“Ah.”

“Not that it’s a problem, it’s fine, great even. I just had no idea, that’s all.”

Douglas just hummed and Martin felt his face burn and he was sure his blush was enough to drown out his freckles. 

“You’ve only ever mentioned women before, you see, so I didn’t think it was your kind of thing.”

“When have you ever known me to restrain myself when it comes to certain pleasures in life?”

Douglas threw him a positively devilish grin at that, which made Martin wish he could melt into his seat, or even just be spared conversation for the remaining two hours to Moscow.

But no, today was the day Douglas actually chose to be forthcoming about his life, so the next half hour was spent talking about Joseph and all his many, many qualities, and how Douglas was sure he was the best thing to happen to him since Helena. 

The entire time, Martin was slowly consumed by the increasing urge to vomit or punch something, neither of which would be completely productive in flying G-ERTI smoothly, he instead opted for merely glaring at the altimeters when Douglas wasn’t paying him any attention as if their altitude were to blame for his situation (which, in a way, it was, as he wouldn’t otherwise be trapped in a tiny cockpit with Douglas waxing lyrical and revealing the hopeless romantic facet of his personality that he normally kept under wraps).

—————

Everything began, as these things often do, when Martin was first introduced to Douglas by Carolyn. He had heard that deep, smooth voice outside the office on his first day, and that was of course before he even stepped through the door and saw what it came attached to. 

It took approximately fourteen seconds for Martin to surmise that he was in Big Trouble. 

All Douglas had said was, “Charmed.”

All Martin had done was blush and mumble (even worse than he usually did when nervous, of course).

Of course then Carolyn had introduced Martin as the new captain and everything had gone downhill from there. 

It was fine, Martin told himself at first; just a harmless crush and Douglas was married and enough of a conceited arse that he was sure to be over it in no time. 

Martin really should have foreseen that his terrible, terrible luck would kick in. 

It was just over a year into his time at MJN Air, when they had just landed in Fitton after the eventful trip to Gdansk,that Martin and Douglas sat in the flight deck - giggling together over the memory of Carolyn trying (with her very limited supply of patience) to sufficiently calm down a hysterical Madam Szyszko-Bohusz in the ten minutes before they had to prepare for landing - and Martin was struck full-force with the fact that, following along from Douglas’ thawing attitude to his captain,Martin himself had somehow managed to fall in love with the man. 

He should have known really. 

Big Trouble indeed. 

His realisation changed nothing however - Douglas was not, and would never be interested and it wasn’t as if Martin had a queue of potential partners for whom his infatuation could prove to be such a problem. 

And so was his life - hours on end in the company of the man he loved and never able to do a thing about it.

—————

Douglas’ newfound romantic happiness was a huge problem. 

No, that sounded unfair - it _was_ unfair - after all it wasn’t Douglas’ fault that Martin was in such a mess (well it was a little bit, but his fault in the situation was more inadvertent, after all, he didn’t make Martin fall stupidly in love with him). 

The problem wasn’t even Joseph, whose relationship with Douglas was going swimmingly. Martin had even met the man and he was nothing if not affable. 

No, the problem, Martin found, was that whereas before his entire situation could be characterised in shades of grey - and rather bleak ones at that - now, _now_ he had caught a brief hint of colour and his relentless hopefulness had kicked in. 

It was the same kind of dogged hope that had permeated his struggle to qualify to fly and battled constantly with his more realistic side that would point out how his dreams of achieving such things were as fruitless as Icarus’ naive attempt to reach the sun. 

Despite the fact that Douglas’ being interested in both men and women in no way ensured his attraction to Martin - indeed, there were many things, evident things, that displayed just how much Martin was Not Douglas’ Type, not least the fact that Martin was, well, _Martin_ \- the hopeful side of him began to read into every little gesture his co-pilot made to such an extent that it would put teenagers to shame.

Suddenly, each small glance became flirting, each barest brush of skin on skin, or even skin on uniform was apparently a purposeful attempt at closeness and each smile or smirk came tinged with the promise of something Martin had longed for such such a length of time, he wasn’t quite sure how to react. 

The result was him becoming even more ridiculously tongue-tied than he had been even upon their first meeting. 

Douglas, for his part, was oddly benevolent about the change in Martin’s behaviour around him, even if he had seemed a little put-out - to the tiny extent that Douglas could ever allow himself to seem put-out - at Martin’s new penchant for sharing rooms with Arthur each time Carolyn only booked two (which was most times). Arthur, of course, enjoyed each of these new sleepovers immensely but was sometimes a little too curious for Martin’s comfort as to why they had stopped drawing lots or making bets to decide the sleeping arrangements. The simple lie that Martin had simply lost a bet, the winner of whom got to sleep in their own room for the next three months soon solved the problem, until of course, Arthur mentioned the bet in front of Douglas. Martin had sent him a pleading look and his first officer had thankfully answered smoothly that of course he had won the bet. Arthur had left with a smile to prepare for landing and Douglas had shot Martin an oddly hurt look. The journey back to Fitton was oddly quiet and uncomfortable as Douglas said nothing and Martin floundered about in his head trying to think of something to say to explain the whole thing, without giving himself away. 

Nothing really became an issue until the next flight from Moscow to Antibes. It was a run of the mill trip, one that took several of Mr Alyarkin’s customers - the typical people that seemed to have more money than sense - from their homes in Chelsea and Moscow to the South of France in the hope that they - as Carolyn so aptly put it - would return satisfactorily be-yachted. 

Today, they were flying the two hours back to London, carrying four potential yachters, only one of whom had sadly been unable to find a suitably ostentatious yacht to fulfil his wishes. Whatever may have been brewing following Douglas’ abrupt return home last time they landed in Fitton, seemed to have blown over, finding him of his usual amiable disposition and thus he engaged Martin in their usual activity of bartering the cheese tray over the word game they were playing that week. 

They were strangely bereft of Arthur - he had been claimed by his new girlfriend Floss as her date to some sort of society wedding - and thusly his role of tea-bringer was instead filled by Carolyn who would reluctantly appear with hot drinks when she was not tending to their passengers, or, for the most part, gloating over the success of the trip in the galley, particularly where MJN’s coffers were concerned.

For once, it was Martin who was in the lead for the return flight’s game (Films Improved by the Addition of One Letter) as they passed over Northern France. He found himself indebted to Caitlyn’s former obsession with Audrey Hepburn when he one-upped Douglas with a double whammy of ‘ _My Fairy Lady’_ and _‘Breakfast Ate Tiffany’s’_. Though his pride had been somewhat dampened by Carolyn’s then slightly better addition of _‘The Noun’s Story’_.

“There is of course,” Douglas began in his usual ponderous manner, “The tale of one man’s vendetta against green leafy vegetables.”

Martin raised an eyebrow curiously. 

“ _Die Chard.”_

He couldn’t help the snort that burst from his lips at that one, utterly ridiculous as it was and then of course, there was the slight proud tilt the sound brought to Douglas’ lips. 

“Or there is the camping edition of _University Challenge,_ ” the first officer continued. 

Martin nearly groaned, as he had a vague sense of what was coming, “Go on.”

“ _Starter for Tent_.”

“If you’re allowed that then I’m going with _Singing in the Brain.”_

“Ahh yes, a tale many are familiar with - the man with a song stuck in his head.”

There was a moment of pause before Douglas chuckled to himself.

“You’re going to hate me for this one.”

“What?” Martin said, layering his voice with a joking trepidation. 

“The tale of the cosmic boils or _Star Warts_.”

Martin batted down his indulgent grin and turned back to the expanse of sky before him.

“You’re right, I think that one physically pained me.”

It was some time again before either of them spoke - almost to their destination in fact. Such a thing was not unusual, spending so much time in a person’s company often led to companionable silences but Douglas looked strangely contemplative, almost in a saddened way that Martin wasn’t entirely comfortable with. There had been nothing mentioned recently in terms of anything particular going on at home with the elder pilot; he had actually been seeing more of his daughter despite her living in Barrow-in-Furness. 

It had been quite some time since their last outing away from the context of MJN, so Martin wasn’t really sure - in fact, when he thought on it, it had been well over a month, almost two, a bit before the other’s relationship had begun in fact. 

Subsequently, the question bubbled up naturally, and out of his mouth before he really had much time to think on it, and indeed the effect an answer might have on his own mental wellbeing. 

“How’s Joseph?”

Douglas’ brow dropped into a sad sort of frown before he quickly smoothed it away into his usual nonchalance. 

“Oh didn’t I tell you?” he hummed, with a levity that was obviously feigned. “We broke up.”

Martin’s stomach managed a completely peculiar thing where it fluttered and clenched at the same time. 

“You did?” he forced out, fighting the urge to wince at how strangled he sounded. “But things seemed to be going so well.”

“Yes, well,” Douglas shrugged, “In the end we decided that the age gap was just a little to large.”

The hopeful part of Martin shrivelled up and died just a little bit more. 

“Oh, but- but-“ he stuttered, “W-wasn’t Joseph older than me?”

The question, unbidden and loaded with oh so much made Martin freeze in his chair. Douglas seemed not to pick up on the undertone, or indeed his Captain’s sudden rigidity and rapidly reddening cheeks - or perhaps he, in a rare show of utter generosity, had decided to pretend not to notice anything out of the ordinary. 

“Yes,” he drawled, in the tone he usually reserved for explaining something to Arthur, “And as I have pointed out to you on numerous occasions - and as Joseph was sure to point out to me - I’m old enough to be your father.”

Douglas was doing a spectacular job of keeping up the cool, calm facade - if one ignored the white-knuckled grip he had on the control column. Martin felt an sudden, uncharacteristically violent surge of hatred for stupid, stupid Joseph. Did he not know who he had passed over? What he was missing?

“But you’re not though.”

Douglas chuckled bitterly, “I think even I’d have noticed if I was your father Martin.”

He scowled, “That’s not what I meant-”

“I know.”

“Yes, just let me finish Douglas,” he snapped. He took a breath, his own hands clenching before him. “What I was trying to say is that- as you have already admitted yourself - in order to - theoretically that is - be my father, you would have had to have started at a very young age. The age gap isn’t that large and if Joseph had truly had a problem with it, well he would never have started anything with you in the first place.”

In the odd silence that reigned for a moment, Martin continued to stare ahead, wondering briefly if he had said too much, then Douglas spoke, his tone slow and deliberate. 

“Well thank you, I suppose. I guess there was a compliment in there, somewhere, and so well delivered too.”

Martin sighed, not really sure if he should take the return to sarcasm as a good sign or not.Douglas would never admit to feeling down for long. 

With a nod to himself to clear his head, Martin reached for his intercom. 

“Arthur prepare for landing.”

“Arthur isn’t here Martin,” Carolyn’s voice crackled over the speaker. “Who’s winning?”

“Erm, it’s a draw currently, I think.”

Carolyn made a funny harrumphing sort of noise, “Oh just go land my plane.”

—————

Things mercifully returned to their normal dull routine. Douglas acted as if his momentary insecurity had never happened, something Martin was glad for, as it meant their conversations settled back to as they were, and he could go back to pining from afar. Well not so far, normally from the other side of the flight deck, or dinner table (when Douglas had invited him for their usual monthly dinner two days after the Break-Up Incident, Martin had been unable to refuse, yet miraculously didn’t make a tit of himself).

In fact, in Martin’s opinion, things were pretty much as perfect as his life could be. That was, of course, until he went to the supermarket. This wasn’t an unusual incident in and of itself - indeed Martin went to the supermarket every week, and he had perfected the routine now, knowing exactly when to go to the big 24 hour Tesco so he could reap the benefits of all the discounted end-of-day produce, sometimes taking one of the students with him if they were about, as they loved to take advantage of his van to stock up on the bulk buy offers. 

On this particular occasion, he was alone, and was rooting through the bucket of discount bread. This time he had done very well for himself, he thought, as Paul, who now knew him by sight, had been marking down a bunch of vegetables and had sneaked Martin several items, including a huge bag of stir fry mix, for mere pennies each. Paul normally did this, but today there was more available than usual, and Paul had given Martin his pick of the lot. So Martin, was in a good mood, with a trolley both fuller and cheaper than usual - he even had a few baked potatoes.

As he resurfaced from the bread bin, prize in hand in the form of a large thirty pence bloomer loaf, there was a cough behind him, making him whirl around, so quickly it made his neck click painfully. 

“Martin, hello.”

It was Joseph. Martin could feel the blood drain from his extremities to heat his face. Joseph smiled at him, friendly, but a little cautious. He wasn’t as tall as Martin had first supposed, on that day in the car, but he was still taller than Martin, and composed of all smooth lines and neat fabrics, even as he stood there in chinos and a pastel yellow jumper. How Martin could ever have thought he could compare, he didn’t know. He, who was stood there in his too large clothes, and oh God, these were his jeans that had the hole in so big his knee poked out awkwardly, weren’t they? He glanced down. His knobbly knee seemed to wink back at him mockingly. Perfect.

“Joseph. H-hi? How are you?” 

Joseph seemed almost relieved, as if he had been expecting a colder reception, which to be fair, he had broken up with Douglas, but, well, Martin didn’t think it was worth making himself even more flustered, which anger tended to do. 

“I’m fine thank you, and yourself?”

“Fine. Good. Great.”

Oh yes, perfectly convincing. He hadn’t been much better when they’d met either. Joseph probably considered him a great idiot, or just socially inept. 

“How’s Douglas?”

Martin froze. He supposed Joseph had every right to ask, but the question still made his blood boil. Was Joseph asking because he wanted Douglas to be happy, or he wanted the man to be wallowing in self pity? His tone had been neutral and light, but then again, he had far more composure than Martin.

“He’s good,” Martin said tightly. He threw the bread into his trolley with a bit more force than was necessary. 

“Good.” 

“Actually…” Martin heard himself say, before he thought the better of it.

Joseph, who had half turned to go, faced him again, “What?” He sounded worried, not confrontational as Martin might have guessed. 

“Well, he’s fine now, but I think he took your break up a little hard at first.” Oh God, what was he doing? If Douglas found out about this, he was going to kill him. 

“Oh?”

“Yes, I suppose I just wanted to know, why?” 

“Why?”

Joseph sounded shocked. Oh dear, what if Joseph suddenly decided he’d made a mistake, because in Martin’s clearly unbiased opinion, anyone who let Douglas go was a complete berk, and Joseph was a smart man. 

“The age thing, it can’t have been that much of an issue surely? If it was going to be why on earth did you pursue something in the first place?” 

Joseph blinked at him, “He didn’t tell you yet?”

“What?” Martin choked out, feeling like something was crashing down around him. Why had Douglas lied? It wasn’t that Douglas didn’t lie, but he didn’t lie to Martin anymore, not about things like this. Things that mattered. 

“I-I… It wasn’t the age thing.” And oh Lord, and now Joseph was stuttering, smooth, composed Joseph was stuttering. Martin’s throat started to close over in dread. “It played a part, but that wasn’t it, in the end.”

“Then what was?” Martin managed weakly. 

“It’s difficult starting a relationship with someone who’s clearly infatuated with someone else.” At that moment, Martin was fairly certain everything came crashing down. Of course, of course Douglas wanted someone else, and if not Joseph then doubtlessly someone even more refined and perfect. Still, Joseph’s voice continued on, through the roaring in his ears, and he forced himself to listen. “Martin, promise me you won’t push him over this, you’re his closest friend, and if he hasn’t told you, it’s clear he doesn’t want anyone to know.” Well, Martin felt at least somewhat gratified that he could be considered as such. Douglas didn’t really have that many friends, simply acquaintances, dalliances and people that owed him favours. 

“He was still half in denial when I confronted him about it,” Joseph added, as an afterthought, his pale forehead crinkled in a frown. 

“…Okay.” Martin wasn’t sure he could say anymore than that safely. In his mind, the words ‘Douglas’, ‘infatuated’ and ‘someone else’ were cycling through his brain on some sort of torturous broken record. 

A warm palm pressed to his forearm, and Martin looked up into kind grey eyes. “I’d best be off,” Joseph said, “Take care Martin.”

And with that, he turned and left, out of range before Martin managed a pathetic,

“You too.” 

—————

“Douglas, a word?”

The other pilot frowned at him, from across the cockpit. Martin did suppose he sounded a little serious, and they did usually try and avoid any but lighthearted topics of conversation mid-flight. But Martin had spent all week agonising over his encounter with Joseph at the supermarket, how he should bring it up, or if he should bring it up at all. 

“What is it? Are you okay?”

“Wha?” Martin stumbled, because Douglas actually sounded worried, and wasn’t that strange? “Yes, yes I’m fine. It’s just I- well I didn’t get a chance to tell you before, and then I wasn’t sure if I should even tell you, but then I decided-”

He cut himself off abruptly because he was going about this the complete wrong way. He’d rehearsed this. He would casually mention it to Douglas, Douglas would get a bit annoyed, brush the whole infatuation thing off as utterly ridiculous and then everything would return to normal. Simple.

“Martin.”

“Sorry,” he muttered. 

“So, what is it you want to tell me?” Douglas prompted after a moment’s silence. 

Martin took a deep breath. He could do this. Cool, calm, and to the point.“I- I bumped into Joseph on Monday - at the supermarket.”

Well at least that was to the point. 

“Oh,” Douglas’ tone darkened, but Martin couldn’t get a read on it. He glanced to the side, to see his co-pilot staring down at the control column. “Is he well?”

“Yes, yes, he’s fine. But that’s not I wanted to talk about,” Martin said. Here it goes, here’s the part where Douglas kills him, “When I saw him, I might have, sort have, inadvertently confronted him about your break-up.” 

“Oh Martin, you didn’t.”

Douglas didn’t sound angry though, he sounded resigned. 

“I’m sorry Douglas, it just came out,” Martin replied, but he didn’t sound nearly as sincere as he could have done, partially because of what he had to say next. “But I suppose the thing I want to know is, why did you lie about it?”

“What?” And well, Martin wondered just what Douglas had expected him to say about it, to catch him so off guard that he choked out his answer. 

“Why did you lie?” Martin persisted, and then, because he was being even more masochistic today, “Why not tell me that there was someone else in the mix all along? What?” He paused his mounting tirade, as Douglas turned to face him sharply, incensed, but his anger wasn’t for Martin.

“I can’t believe Joseph told you that,” Douglas cried out. “He seems convinced that I’m in love with-” 

He cut himself off, no doubt at the look of horror that passed across Martin’s face. He’d thought, Joseph’s comments were bad, but this, _love_ , was so, _so_ much worse. Love, there was no coming back from. Martin should know.

“What?”

“In love?” 

“Yes,” Douglas looked wary now. 

“Joseph never mentioned love, Douglas.” And oh, he was definitely only making this worse for himself. Could he never learn to leave things be? “I believe the exact word he used was ‘infatuated’.”

“Ah.” Ah, indeed. Douglas’ face had dropped into complete blankness, which Martin knew meant trouble. 

“So,” Martin began cautiously, “Who is it?”

“You- You don’t know him.” Oh God, Douglas had stumbled. Martin was fairly certain he had never heard Douglas stutter before. Clearly it was someone they knew, oh, and it was a man too, wasn't that just the icing on the cake? Martin wasn’t sure he could take it much more as his heart wrenched painfully in his chest. 

“Okay,” he muttered, “You don’t have to tell me. How come you’ve never mentioned it to me?”

“It’s not like anything is going to become of it.” And well, wasn’t this ruinous conversation just full of firsts, Douglas Richardson sounding defeated? 

“Don’t say that,” he found himself replying automatically. 

“Well there’s quite a big age gap-”

“Oh don’t start that,” Martin said angrily. Because really, he had had enough already. His head constantly told him he had no chance, without Douglas saying it too. “You’re making out your age to be a way bigger deal than it is.” 

Douglas grinned, wry and self-deprecating. “Martin, if my age is anything, it’s a big deal.” 

He huffed, “Fine, but it may not be for him unless you ask.”

Silence fell upon the flight deck, well all except for Martin radioing in a response to Warsaw ATC, and then Douglas spoke again. 

“That’s the other thing - we’re friends. I don’t want to lose that.”

Oh, and there was that insufferable hope again, because, as Martin had acknowledged before, Douglas didn’t have that many true friends, and certainly none he could think of for whom the age gap problem would feature. And was it really too much to hope that he, Martin, would have something go right for him for once? 

“Who’s to say you will. You never know until you ask. Worst that can happen is he says no.”

“Funny, how you’re the one giving me advice,” Douglas said, amused, but not malicious. Martin chuckled, because he’d been having much the same thought himself. 

“Yes, me with no romantic life to speak of,” he said, “Still I really think you should just, I don’t know, be you. Ask him to dinner, charm him, chances are you already have.” 

“Maybe,” Douglas agreed, because it was one thing for him to take advice off Martin, but admit he was right was something else entirely. “Martin?”

“Yes?”

Douglas smiled, “Thank you.” 

—————

About a week later, just as they were pulling into British airspace after dropping a disgustingly in love couple off for their honeymoon in Monaco, Douglas asked him a question, right out of the blue.

“Martin, why do you care so much about how I perceive our age gap?”

“Huh?” Martin spluttered, “Wha? I- I don’t care about that! Nope, I don’t care about a-anything.”

Smooth. Seriously Martin, that was the paragon of a cool, collected response, right there. 

Douglas, however, just smiled, as if he had finally found that last puzzle piece he’d been looking for all along. 

Martin sighed, defeated, and dropped his eyes away from Douglas’ gaze. He knew.

Out of the corner of his eye though, he could still see Douglas smiling.

“Martin,” he began, his voice loaded with meaning and an incredible gentleness, “Would you like to go for dinner?”

Blue eyes met brown and Martin finally understood.

Oh.

“Isn’t this what you suggested?” Douglas continued, undeterred by Martin's silence, “‘Ask him to dinner’?”

Martin felt his lips stretch into a grin that was probably too wide on his face, but he found he couldn’t care about that right now. Because that warmth in Douglas’ eyes wasn’t fondness, as he’d always thought, it was something so much more.

Martin smiled wider, prompting Douglas to do the same.

“I’d love to.”

And the world exploded into colour, brighter than it had ever been before. 


End file.
